


little by little

by deletable_bird



Category: Phandom/The Fantastic Foursome (YouTube RPF)
Genre: Boys Kissing, Cooking, Cuddling & Snuggling, Dancing, Domestic, Domestic Bliss, Domestic Fluff, Drinking, Drinking to Cope, Drunk Dancing, Drunken Kissing, Existential Crisis, Fluff, Fluff without Plot, Fluffy Ending, Kissing, M/M, Romance, Romantic Fluff, Romantic Gestures, Slow Dancing, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Wine, but mild existential crisis
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-14
Updated: 2016-01-14
Packaged: 2018-05-13 20:42:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,140
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5716405
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/deletable_bird/pseuds/deletable_bird
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <em>Dan's voice is voice relaxed and liquid, his posture much the same. He’s draped over the arm of the couch, looking at Phil upside down, the rim of a half-full wine glass clasped in the fingertips of his right hand. “You’re drunk, you arse,” Phil tells him, skirting the coffee table and sitting down at his feet.</em>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	little by little

**Author's Note:**

> [song number one](https://soundcloud.com/markutio/haley-reinhart-cant-help-falling-in-love) / [song number two](https://soundcloud.com/lulleaux/ulf-nillson-little-by-little-lulleaux-george-whyman-remix) (here's song number two sans remix [[X](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-7rivJpBha4)])
> 
> [ _disclaimer_ ](http://deletablebird.tumblr.com/d)

Phil takes one step into the living room and stops dead.

“Dan, that’s your ― what, third?”

“Fourth,” Dan says, his voice relaxed and liquid, his posture much the same. He’s draped over the arm of the couch, looking at Phil upside down, the rim of a half-full wine glass clasped in the fingertips of his right hand.

“You’re drunk, you arse,” Phil tells him, skirting the coffee table and lifting Dan’s legs up so he can sit down where they were previously stretched out across the cushion. Dan lets them fall back down again immediately, his calves resting atop Phil’s thighs. He’s warm, almost too warm, but he reaches down with his free hand and laces his fingers in with Phil’s, so it doesn’t really matter.

“Let me have some,” Phil says, his voice gone soft, and makes half-hearted grabby hands at the wine glass. Dan scrunches his shoulders down so he can look at Phil again and hands it over. Phil takes a sip and immediately scrunches up his face.

“Yech,” he says, licking his lips, but not returning the glass. “I hate red wine.”

“Shut up,” Dan says, pulling Phil’s hand up so it’s resting on his chest, enveloped in the very agreeable confinement of his palms. Phil takes another sip, stomachs it and takes another. The wine is nearly palatable by the time he’s drained the glass, and Dan just plays with his fingers in silence.

“Why’d you start drinking, then?” Phil says, pulling Dan up and wrestling his supine form around so he’s got his head in Phil’s lap and his knees hooked over the arm of the sofa. Dan looks up at Phil for a long moment before he reaches a hand up to run his fingertips along the angle of Phil’s cheekbone.

“I was thinking,” he says, and Phil catches his hand and presses it to his lips. Dan lets out an infinitesimal sigh, his eyes fluttering closed as Phil rests his cheek against the back of Dan’s hand before letting it rejoin its twin and pushing his own fingers into Dan’s fringe.

“You don’t have to drink to stop thinking, you know,” Phil murmurs, lifting Dan’s head up a little so he can cradle the back of his skull. Dan tips his head back into the touch, eyes closed and lips slightly parted. It would be an erotic sight if Phil was in the mood.

“I felt like it tonight,” he murmurs, his voice going breathy at the end of the sentence and catching in his throat when Phil digs the pads of his fingers lightly into the nape of Dan’s neck.

Dan was putty before, but he positively melts beneath Phil’s hands, in his hair, curling around the back of his neck, massaging just hard enough to work the tension out of his tendons. They only get up from the couch when Phil looks away from Dan’s face and realises it’s nearly nine at night, and he hasn’t eaten since eleven that morning.

“Dinner?” he asks, his voice a little husky, and Dan exhales long and slow before opening his eyes and letting a soft smile pick up the corners of his mouth.

“Let’s just see what we have at home,” he whispers. There’s a definitive quiet to the little bubble of their eye contact, like normal voices or sudden movements are forbidden.

It’s a moment before Dan pushes himself upright and swings his legs off the couch, sliding socked feet over the floor as he leaves the room, glancing over his shoulder once to smile. Phil follows him, pausing beside the glass door to watch him lean over his laptop to pull up a YouTube mix, his elbows resting on the kitchen counter.

The love song from the gum commercial comes up, and Phil hides his smile as he opens the fridge, extracting a box of leftover Chinese and passing it over for Dan to set it beside the stove. They find instant ramen and raw chicken and peanuts, and Dan digs through the spice cupboard for a ridiculously long time, reading out names and asking if Phil wants it for the mess he’s throwing together in the biggest saucepan they own.

It’s a while before Phil finally deigns to abandon his cooking and cross the room, pressing himself up behind Dan and rising onto tiptoes so he can lace their fingers together and close the cabinet. “No cumin, please and thank you,” he says, letting his lips brush the shell of Dan’s ear, and feels a shiver run through him.

“Let me go, you idiot,” Dan says, and Phil lets his hands go and but slides both arms around his waist, pulling him close. The fry in the pan is sizzling and giving off a gorgeous smell, and something that’s obviously a bad remix of some song, sung by a man with a throaty voice, is spilling out of the laptop’s speaker.

“Dance with me first,” Phil says, unable to stop the smile that spreads across his face when he sees the grin on Dan’s. He shifts from one foot to the other, resting his chin on Dan’s shoulder, and coaxes them into moving as a pair.

It’s not long before Dan turns around and Phil shifts his face into his neck and inhales long and slow. He smells like red wine and relaxation, and he’s got his arms warm and tight around Phil’s neck and the song is maybe not all that bad, honestly.

“Come here,” Dan whispers against Phil’s cheek, pulling back just far enough so he can press their lips together, one hand against the back of Phil’s head. It’s slow and lazy and very sweet, and Phil can’t help but catch Dan’s lower lip in his teeth and pull away, slowly. Dan gasps a little at that, and retaliates by coaxing Phil’s mouth open, slipping his tongue in briefly. The feeling is electric and sends chills down Phil’s spine, but it fades again quickly as their touches slow down again, back to slow lingering kisses and smiling against mouths, palms cradling jaws and thumbs stroking over cheeks.

They break apart at the same time, and their eyes meet for a second before Phil pulls Dan in close. They fit together in such a perfect way that it still makes Phil’s heart skip a beat, and he realises he can feel Dan’s heartbeat as well, even through their clothes.

“I love you,” he murmurs, and Dan lets out a shaky breath and clutches a double handful of the back of Phil’s sweatshirt.

“I _need_ you,” he says back, and his voice sounds like he’s near tears but he was thinking too much earlier, and he had to get out the wine, and Phil understands so he just holds him tighter and breathes, little by little by little.


End file.
